


Dinner for Two

by incurableinsanity



Series: Winterhawk Shorts [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Deaf Clint Barton, Dinner, First Date, Fluff, M/M, Mentioned Natasha/Sam, mentioned Steve/Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incurableinsanity/pseuds/incurableinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man smiles, “I’m really sorry to keep you waiting. Can we still have dinner?” Quietly, but just loud enough for Clint to hear, he adds, “My name’s Bucky. Just go with this, yeah? That other guy’s a dick for standing you up.”</p><p>Or:</p><p>The one where a stranger steps in to stop Clint from looking like a pathetic moron for getting stood up on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner for Two

**Author's Note:**

> Also available in Русский ([x](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3561505))
> 
> Based on [this](http://grootmorning.tumblr.com/post/126969904172/danger-days-of-our-lives-likehemmins-imagine) tumblr post

“Clint, you need to get back out there.”

Clint groans, pushing his face into the pillow. Natasha’s been able to remove the blankets and other pillows, but he will die before he lets her take this one too.

“Clint.”

“No,” his answer is muffled, but no less annoyed. He’s not going to do it. He’s not. This is stupid, and dumb, and absolutely idiotic.

No, he’s not going to do it.

“Clint, I’m telling you, you need to call this guy and get a date.” Natasha sits next to him, placing a hand between his shoulder blades. “When’s the last time you went out on a date?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.

All his dates end the same: it doesn’t work. Clint is barely holding his life together some days and trying it with someone on top of it is too much. Natasha gets this, she does, but she doesn’t always let up either. She refuses to let him become a hermit aside from work, and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful or furious about it.

“Look, I’m not saying fall in love with the guy,” Natasha adds and Clint bites back the smile at the dry tone, “but a date will get you out of the apartment, and then you can get to know him. Let it see where it goes.”

“You’re just saying that cause you’ve got Sam,” Clint mumbles, but does lift his head to look at her. She’s quirking a smile.

“Sam wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if I didn’t push him along,” She allows. Clint grins, just a little. “I’m trying to push you along. This Brock guy might or might not be someone you date, but a date couldn’t hurt.”

Clint exhales quietly. He hates the dating scene. He’s all for helping his friends get together – Natasha and Sam, and their friends Steve and Tony (god that had almost been a train wreck, but it thankfully worked out) – but he’s not so keen on helping himself. He’s a mess at the best of times and a human crapsack at the worst.

He hates talking about himself, and he hates anything to do with the pressures of dating. Talk about yourself, but not too much. Ask about the other person, but make sure it’s enough. Share interests, but not too many. Hang out often, but don’t be clingy. Have dates, but have enough so you don’t seem crude. Make the way towards having sex together, but don’t go too fast or too slow or it’ll never happen. Don’t look too fake, but don’t look like a prude or a narcissist either.

It’s exhausting – there’s too many rules, etiquette, and anything to everything can go wrong.

God, Clint hates dating. But he hates worrying Natasha more when he doesn’t leave the apartment days on end, calling in sick to work for no reason. He’s probably lucky that they’re so understanding.

“Alright,” he concedes. “I’ll call this guy.”

“Thank you,” Natasha smiles.

 

 

 

 

The restaurant’s not all that fancy, something simple. Clint wears a decent shirt and nice jeans at Natasha’s insistence, but he feels so uncomfortable that the first few buttons are undone. She sent him on his way with a kind smile and a reminder of the reservation.

Clint shows up first a few minutes before seven and tells the hostess his last name.

“Party of two?” She asks him.

“They’ll be here in a bit.” He tells her. Brock agreed at seven, so he might just be running a little late. She nods and leads him to a small booth by the windows that provides him a view of the street. He takes a seat, his back facing the wall, a habit from his days as a sniper. Keeping his own back covered.

Clint looks over the menu for a few minutes, shoving down the quiet anxiety in his chest, sure that Brock’s just running a little late. He adjusts one of the hearing aids to have something to do with his hands.

The waitress comes over, a welcoming smile on her face. She greets him and then asks, “Can I start you off with something to drink while you wait?”

Clint smiles a bit, “Just a water, please. Thank you.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” She tells him and disappears. Clint glances at the window and then his phone. 7:08.

It’s probably fine.

 

 

 

 

7:15.

Clint fiddles with his phone, toys with the idea of calling Brock. He’s probably just running late.

“Are you ready to order?” His waitress asks.

“Sorry, could you give me a few more minutes? He’s probably stuck in traffic.” She nods, not sympathetically, because this a thing that is normal and happens to everyone and it’s fine. Clint inhales, then exhales slowly.

He deletes the text to Brock before he can send it. He shouldn’t be pushy. It’s a rule.

 

 

 

 

Clint has to ask for a refill on the water. His phone reads 7:37. His waitress is starting to look apologetic and Clint has to fight the urge to get up and run.

It’s fine. Brock’s phone might be dead.

 

 

 

 

Clint manages to not bury his head in his hands at 7:53. He knew this was stupid. It was stupid and bad, and idiotic. Why did he let Natasha talk him into this? God, he feels like a moron for sitting here so long with nothing but a glass of water and the plea to the waitress to wait a few more minutes.

The waitress keeps giving him sorry looks, and the other patrons are starting to notice the man sitting here by himself. Clint keeps checking his phone. He glances at the window, hoping for a glimpse of Brock. He can see other people looking at him through the reflections on the glass. Everyone’s looking at the poor lonely deaf guy at a table by himself, clearly stood up.

It’s humiliating.

He needs to go. He needs to leave and go home and never leave his apartment again. His eyes are starting to feel watery and he has to blink rapidly. _Idiot, idiot, idiot._

He shifts, ready to call it a night and never look at anyone again.

“Oh my god, babe, sorry I’m so late – the train was stuck and there was no signal,” A man says loudly, sliding into the booth like he belongs there.

Clint stares, confused. This isn’t Brock. Brock doesn’t have a metal left hand. He knows what Brock looks like, so the next time he sees him (if Clint ever leaves his apartment that is), he can punch him in the mouth.

The man smiles, “I’m really sorry to keep you waiting. Can we still have dinner?” Quietly, but just loud enough for Clint to hear, he adds, “My name’s Bucky. Just go with this, yeah? That other guy’s a dick for standing you up.”

Clint finds himself nodding, though he still feels like he’s about to cry. “Couldn’t have caught another train?” He doesn’t know how he made his voice so stable.

Bucky smiles again, apologetically, “The next one would have made me even later. Sorry.”

“Just don’t do it again,” Clint tells him and Bucky nods right away.

“I won’t.”

The waitress takes her time coming back to the table. She smiles, the apologetic look gone. The other patrons have gone back to their meal. Clint can breathe again, if only for a moment. “Do you need another few minutes?”

Clint’s had his order ready for an hour, but now he’s forgotten it. “Please.”

“Can I have a water, please? Thank you,” Bucky tells her with a charming smile. She nods and steps away. Clint sits back, looking at the menu so he doesn’t look at this guy who was sweet enough to pretend like this is his date and is also really cute with the floppy brown hair and the eyes and _goddammit_.

“Thank you,” Clint murmurs, eyes not really scanning the page.

“No problem,” Bucky shrugs, “I’ve had to do the ‘I’ve been stood up’ walk out of a restaurant before, and it is not pleasant.”

Clint laughs, kind of relieved. “It doesn’t seem like something I want to go through.”

“It sucks,” Bucky replies, looking over the menu.

“It does,” Clint agrees. Bucky shoots him a quick smile. “I’m Clint, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.”

 

 

 

 

They give their waitress their orders, and Clint’s forced to actually look at Bucky. This is when people are supposed to be able to make conversation, talk about themselves and stuff. Clint has no idea how to do that. He’s not sure he can ask about the metal hand, but at least Bucky’s not staring at his ears.

“So is Bucky your real name?” He blurts. He flushes, berating himself.

“It’s James Buchanan Barnes. Friends call me Bucky,” Bucky says. “You?”

Clint takes a second to process that. “Uh, Clinton Francis. Barton. Clinton Francis Barton.” Oh god, he has lost all ability to talk normally. Bucky smiles though, unfazed. “Clint for short,” He adds belatedly.

“Work?”

“Archery teacher. You?”

“Gym trainer,” Bucky takes a sip of his water. “Family?”

Clint swallows, “No parents. Estranged brother. You?”

“No parents; a sister,” Bucky smiles again, “Favorite color?”

“Purple. Yours?”

“Silver, mostly. Sometimes red.” Bucky asks him another question, and Clint answers. It’s a back and forth thing. No talking about himself one-sidedly, or vice versa. This is easy, simple. No weird segues, just simple questions that he can answer.

This is actually fine.

 

 

 

 

Clint and Bucky start sharing stories during entrees, once Clint fully relaxes from the earlier debacle. The waitress seems to have forgotten about it too, thankfully (that or she’s good at pretending).

“You were a sniper?” Bucky raises his eyebrows when Clint nods. “Me too.”

“Yeah, but I’m probably a better shot,” Clint shoots back. He winces inwardly. He shouldn’t boast – that’s making yourself narcissistic, and rude, and that’s another rule.

To his surprise, Bucky laughs. “I guess we’ll have to find out sometime.” Clint can’t help but smile.

 

 

 

 

“So Stevie looks at Tony, and I shit you not, his face bursts into flames. I laughed for days at his stupid mug. He was so surprised,” Bucky laughs. Clint didn’t know that they share mutual friends and wonders why they haven’t met before. Bucky knows Steve, Tony, and Sam, but not Natasha or him. Then again, he came along with Natasha and she’s only known Sam for about a year now.

“I have to tell you, when Sam first met Natasha, I thought his jaw was gonna hit the floor,” Clint returns. Stories about their friends now. This he can do. Story for a story. “I told him to pick it back up before she saw and kicked his ass.” Natasha has always been no nonsense about it. She’ll use her looks for her own means, but she hates being flirted with unprovoked. “She shot him this look and he ran away before she could say anything. She was so smug about it for a week.”

Bucky snorts and Clint grins.

 

 

 

 

They opt to get dessert, and Clint enjoys the sweet taste of the pie slice they get to share. But, he’s slightly nervous.

The date is coming to an end. It’s one of the best ones Clint’s ever had, but where does he go from here? Most of his dates end at the first, and he’s lost track of what goes on now.

Do they exchange numbers? Make another date? Go somewhere after this?

“Can I ask you something?” Clint asks before he really thinks about it. A thought’s been nagging him all evening. One he’s been trying not to entertain.

“Sure,” Bucky says around his fork.

“How come you pretended to be my date?” Bucky pauses, looking at him thoughtfully. Clint waits, more nervous by the minute. He shouldn’t have said anything, he’s a moron –

“You see that coffee shop over there?” Bucky glances out the window, and Clint follows his gaze. He spots the shop and he nods. “I was there getting coffee on my way home, and I was talking to the barista, a friend of mine. I saw you at this table, by yourself, and I got curious. So, I watched, and I realized, as time went on, that you were stood up for a date.”

Bucky takes a moment, thinking. Clint eats a bite to keep himself from saying something stupid while his face flushes.

“And I thought to myself, ‘this guy’s pretty cute’ and all of a sudden, I found my way across the street so I could run into you before you left. I just –” Bucky breaks off, looks away, and exhales sharply. “No one deserves getting stood up. It sucks and it hurts. And it makes people wonder why they even try.”

Bucky looks like he’s about to keep going, but Clint puts his hand over Bucky’s to stop him. Bucky glances up at him. Clint takes a breath, and says as sincerely as he possibly can, “Thank you.”

Bucky smiles.

 

 

 

 

They step out of the restaurant together, and Clint shuffles indecisively in place.

“I have to head this way,” Clint tells him. Bucky looks disappointed, maybe.

“I’m the other way.” Clint nods, and he doesn’t know what to say. Bucky’s clearly at a loss. “Okay, wait. Can I have your phone?”

Clint blinks but does as asked. Bucky takes a second to type something and then hands it back. “We should get together again sometime soon. Next Friday?”

Clint stares at his phone. He shakes himself, and looks at Bucky. “Yeah, next Friday.” He smiles. “You can pick this time. Try not to get stuck on the train again.”

Bucky grins, “I’ll do my best.”

 

 

 

 

Their second date goes just as well. So does their third. And fourth. And fifth. By their sixth, they’re officially dating. Bucky makes him laugh, keeps him calm some days when he feels like crawling out of his skin. Clint helps Bucky with nightmares from his time in the army, and makes him laugh just as hard as he does Clint. It works.

It’s better than fine. It’s great. He can do this.

“I love you,” Clint tells him one night, curled into his side.

“I love you, too,” He answers without hesitation, and presses a kiss to Clint’s hair.

It’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://torii-storii.tumblr.com/)


End file.
